[hr][hr][center][h1][color=662d91]Alexander Polawski[/color][/h1]
[img]https://t1.daumcdn.net/cfile/tistory/24727F37520C6D902D[/img][/center]
[hr][center][b][color=662d91]Location:[/color][/b] The Bus
[color=662d91]Skills: [/color]N/A[/center][hr][hr]

Alexander didn't ignore Manny per say when he didn't look back at his fellow baby boomer to answer his questions, as he spoke back to him all be it in a lowered tone. [color=662d91]"The only thing I guess about this place, is that they know their shit. Can't pull vehicles like these out of their asses, after all. That's good."[/color] Alexander answered Manny, leaning his head against the window as he felt the cool A/C blow on him. On all of them in the bus. Thalia and Beatrice were both talking behind them, but his thoughts were drifting further and further away with the bus, the cool air, the tired ol' bones of a man who'd been through a whole lot of shit.

This all felt familiar...

[hider=A memory of Alexander...][center][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/8d4353560abbf542ba9ba47c9325ef2f/tumblr_ouu9rkzIoj1qi9yg5o4_250.jpg[/img][/center]

[center][hider=Theme for a young man's return.][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPoUbK3WQfo[/youtube][/hider][/center]

[i][u]Autumn 1972.
Sub-urban Chicago, Polawski-residence.
Home[/u]...[/i]

It felt odd to be standing out in a rain which was cold and not warm, in a wind that carried with it brown, yellow and red leaves from the autumn trees signalling the end brighter days and the beginning of darkers ones. Some might call it poetic, a fitting metaphor for the mind of the young man standing out on the rainy street of Chicago. To him it was more than that, something much more: It was home. A home he had not seen for a very long time, a place he'd feared he would never return to, even feared that he actually would. He hadn't even had time to visit it before going straight to his fathers funural. And now? It wasn't much of a house the way it looked in the autumn rain, shadowed by grey clouds and an absent sun. 

But to Alexander, it was the only place he had left to go. 

The sound of military boots against the wet concrete could do nothing to drown out the sound of memories piling up in his head as he walked towards the front porch. It looked just like it had before he left to go to 'Nam, only sadder.  He remembered having spent many times out there, avoiding his father's scoldings while watching people walk by. Now none looked at him, perhaps not noticing the military style of his attire or simply not caring. Alexander Polawski, young but scarred, walked up the small staircase up to the porch, fumbled for the key in his pocket, and locked himself in. 

Dusty, dark, devoid of life. The interior was one of a house left empty. Not in a hurry or in an orderly move, but in the way you'd leave your house assuming you'd return shortly. It wasn't returned to, not by the man who lived there. His father. William Mathias Polawski, droven over by a car while drunk. Alexander saw evidence of his earlier presence everywhere in the newspapers stacked underneath the coffee table, case for his father's glasses, the photograps hung up on the wall. Taking of his jacket and hanging it up on a hanger, the young soldier already a veteran walked up to pictures of his father, his mother and himself. His mother died not long after Alexander was born, he never knew her. His father and he always argued. But on all those pictures Alexander looked at, they looked happy, all of them. 

Even William and Alexander had been both happy once in a while. 

The cabinet of booze was left open, one of the last signs that his father had been up late and drinking, been alive. Alexander knew how much he drank, he too had stolen a few sips here and there before he went overseas. Whiskey, Brandey, Wine, there was plenty to drink there. As Alexander approached the cabinet, the image of he and his father in a fishing boat on Lake Michigan kept popping up, the man and the boy both smiling. That could have been them now. Reunited and happy. But thanks to the inhabitants of the cabinet...

The sound of bottles clinking against one another was only matched by the pouring of liquid down the drain in the kitchen. Back and forth the young man marched between the living room and the kitchen, grabbing each and every bottle from that cabinet. On that day, Alexander swore never to touch a drop of booze ever again. His father had warned him not to go, to stay and do better than that. And now, that Alexander sat on the kitchen counter and poured every last drop of alcohol down the sink, tears silently running down his cheeks, he promised his father that. 

[i]Old man, look at my life. I'm a lot like you were...[/i]

[/hider]

Alexander was brought back to reality with Daytona talking over the intercom like a tourist guide would when arriving to Disneyland, if they did that he didn't know having never been there. The gist of it was that they had a significant settlement in Mexico Beach, lead in a military fashion by the "General". Their induviduality forsaken in favour of survival. Yup, that was the military for you. [color=662d91]"Me neither Manny, me neither...But if someone's going to weather this shitstorm, it's a military."[/color] That's when he saw the town roll past them, the massive wall that certainly was the perimiter defences of the camp and the gate. First truck went through, gate closed and was gone when it re-opened. Camp Mexico Beach. [color=662d91]"If we don't get the boot from the General, it sure could Manny...I'm getting to old for this shit..."[/color]


[hr][hr][center][h1][color=#B8860B]Nigel "Hadrian" Cooper[/color][/h1]
[img]http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/22900000/Lucius-Vorenus-rome-22923240-350-215.gif[/img][/center]
[hr][center][b][color=#B8860B]Location:[/color][/b] The Bus
[color=#B8860B]Skills: [/color] N/A[/center][hr][hr]

Nigel's stoic look around the bus continued throughout the first better part of the bus ride to wherever Daytona were taking them, wherever and whatever their base of operations were. It had to be decent at the very least, with all the organisation that had managed to pull off with helicopters, trucks and radio. But Nigel "Hadrian" was looking around the bus at the various clusters of peoples resting in their seats. He wasn't in the mood to day-dream like Hank and Wayne were about beer and summer vacations, although perhaps he should? His guard was up, though the presence of the sane Erica did help.

Nigel "Hadrian" eventually settled down with looking out the window alongside her, trying to calm down after the initial meeting. Maddog had offered them safe passage and shelter after all back there, and his words had appeared true and honest in nature. So he was uncertain of what to feel about Daytona's talk about the settlement. Military-run small town with good walls and large numbers of living people. Military-run meant efficient and strong, but not always merciful. The 95 % acceptence rate was another double-edged sword. He caught sight of Erica looking at the boy in the back, and he couldn't help but possibly think what she did. 

[color=#B8860B]"Been to Florida before, Erica?"[/color] Nigel "Hadrian" asked his fellow survivor by his side, turning from the others to look at her, attempting to make normal conversation. Normal conversation in a desperate and unormal situation, but with a small smile. [color=#B8860B]"It looks nice, if it wasn't for all the Undead. Never got the time to travel here, wish I had now."[/color] He continued, looking from Erica and out the window again as the wall and gate came into sight. [color=#B8860B]"Reminds me of the Aurelian Walls. These guys really know their construction. Only people with good siege weapons can get through that."[/color] Nigel "Hadrian" commented, partly to himself but also to Erica, if she listened. To her he could talk like that without being called a nerd, which was refreshing. 

Looking back at Erica, he pulled a smile as he straightened himself in the seat. [color=#B8860B]"Let's hope Fortuna is on our side this time."[/color]